


Bad Timing

by niennavalier



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Sick!Len, Sickfic, also barry losing his powers but idk what that tag is, mutual sickness, sick!Barry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-03 04:32:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10235954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niennavalier/pseuds/niennavalier
Summary: The universe had a vendetta against them. That was the only explanation. Timing couldn't be so unfortunate otherwise, Len nursing the start of a cold the same night a fight with the latest meta leaves Barry without his powers - without his healing powers.Go figure.(Coldflash sickfic)





	

    The universe had a vendetta against them. That was the only thing Len could conclude. Of all the days things  _ could’ve _ happened, separate events that, on their own, wouldn’t have been too much of an issue, it was just their luck that everything should strike at once. Len had been nursing the beginnings of a cold since that morning, sniffling his way around the house and through a meeting with the rest of the Rogues. Downing ibuprofen before leaving had only proven so effective, leaving him with a painful pounding behind his eyes by late afternoon, a problem just compounded when his nose started to tickle, leaving him fighting to stifle his sneezes without end. By that evening, he could definitely feel the congestion building, his nose swelling, turning pink and irritated whenever he tried to clear it out, blowing hard into a tissue. It wasn’t bad yet - just enough to be annoying - but surely enough to be audible by the time Barry returned, no matter how much Len would try and hide the nasal turn to his voice. 

    But still, definitely bad enough already that he was not looking forward to the next morning. Not in the slightest. His nose had begun to hurt from all the sniffling and sneezing and blowing, and that did not bode well for anything. He could only guess at the kind of head cold he’d be dealing with, and that would be if he was lucky enough not to have come down with the flu. 

    His sigh turned into a breathless cough that aggravated his chest, stuffed up his nose. This would be bad.

    It came as no surprise that bad soon went to worse.

    The plan had always been to hide his cold from Barry; that hadn’t even been a question, regardless of the fact it wouldn’t take long for him to get found out anyway. So when the door opened in the midst of Len’s most recent attempt to blow his stuffy nose, he stopped cold, disposing of the crumpled tissue in record time, fingers almost immediately twitching for another, the aborted attempt to clear his sinuses not bringing him anywhere near the relief he really needed. But then Barry was there.

    Len was ready to pull on a smirk, make some teasing comment, generally pretend everything was entirely fine (even though the haze in his head was a stark reminder that he was definitely not fine). Except… “Something wrong?”

    He just managed not to wince. No matter he was putting all his effort into not sounding so nasal, he couldn’t do anything against the looming congestion stuffing up his voice. Wouldn’t be long before Barry noticed that, or the almost-surely reddened tip of his nose. So he began to rise to meet him, playing things off like his sinuses weren’t all clogged and swollen, like he didn’t sound pitifully, miserably sick (because he wasn’t, not quite yet, at least).

    Barry didn’t respond.

    The kid just dropped down onto the couch, like his legs wouldn’t hold him up any longer. Len’s nose began to tickle again just then, and he sniffled it away before tilting his head to the side, lowering himself back down, Barry melting into him, apparently not noticing Len’s hyperactive nose. Without a second thought, Len had his arm around Barry, pulling him closer, rubbing circles into his shoulder, paying his cold no heed. “What is it, Barry?”

    “The meta - she...I...my powers…” Barry somehow managed to deflate even further. “She took them.”

    “What?” Len sniffled as Barry nodded, trying to hold his disobedient nose in check.

    “It’s gone. My speed. I dunno how, but it was like she just...sucked it out of me. And, I mean, it’s not the first time, but that doesn’t make it feel any better. I’m just...I’m tired.” Barry turned then, despondent as he looked to Len before laying his head on his chest, apparently not noticing what Len could only assume was an obvious red tint to his nose. It started to tickle again, Len pinching it hard to stay the sneeze that would’ve followed. Barry didn’t need to be concerned about something so insignificant as his nagging head cold. Even if Len just felt all the more terribly stuffed up by holding back his sneeze. He regained his breath as Barry spoke again. “I guess I just...I’m scared this is permanent. And if I’m not the Flash, then what good is that?”

    “Barry…” The words were there, just out of reach, and Len blamed the fever fog in his head for keeping him from reassuring Barry the way he was supposed to.

    “I’m sorry. I’m getting maudlin. I just…” - a deep sigh - “I dunno.”

    “Get some rest,” Len’s throat started to scratch; he ignored it, focusing on trying to hide the nasal turn of his voice with minimal success. “Your friends are gonna figure something out - they always do. And I’m not gonna go anywhere.”

    A silent nod, and Len ended up keeping that vow then and there, Barry dozing off against his chest. His ever more congested chest. As time passed, no matter how Len tried to distract himself by holding Barry, it became impossible to ignore how sickness was seeping in more distinctly. The room just kept getting colder, even with Barry snuggled up against him - he’d be shivering soon enough. Though it was his nose that got the worst of it the longer they laid there. It had already been in bad shape when Barry had first returned home; ever since then, it just kept feeling more stuffed. Len hadn’t been able to breathe through it before, but the tight, swollen feeling was all the more noticeable the longer he refused to attend to it, making his whole head feel fuzzy, stuffed up. It didn’t help that the sneezes just got harder to stifle at the same time, Len battling desperately against the tickle in his nose, pinching it tightly, denying his sinuses the release they obviously needed.  He couldn’t allow that, not with Barry there and sleepy and upset.

    Even as Len's limbs ached, his head throbbed, his nose hurt.

    His breath started to hitch, and it was only by some miracle that Len stopped the imminent violent sneeze which had tried to escape, the extra pressure starting a pounding in his head. He let out a sigh that turned into a shallow cough - soft enough not to wake Barry - and slumped over, closing his eyes, reaching for a tissue to wipe his nose, repressing the urge to sniffle. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be able to stop the sneeze that would inevitably follow.

    He couldn’t do this anymore.

    For as much as he didn’t want to, he shook Barry gently awake, leading him back to their room, drowsy and compliant. After which, Len retreated to the bathroom, tissue held to his nose, desperate to do something about his symptoms. He leaned on the counter for support, still fighting against his hitching breath and tickling, achy nose, needing something -  _ anything  _ \- that might make it feel better.

    Steam. The shower.

    A few minutes later, water scalded his skin, Len slumping in on himself and sighing through his mouth. The heat felt good after the chills had begun to take their toll, felt good on his sore, sick body in general. Finally, he allowed himself to sniffle openly, a thick, thoroughly congested sound, dropping all the guards he’d held up to keep from sneezing in front of Barry, as the tickle returned with a vengeance. Wrenching sneeze after wrenching sneeze left him, muffled in the shower spray, his definitely-swollen-now nose throbbing in pain by the end of it. He reached up to touch it, test how tender it was, only to set off another string of sneezes that actually had him groaning once it was over. The coughs followed in quick succession, pointedly reminding him that his sinuses weren’t the only thing suffering from congestion and grating at the scratchiness in his throat. But he allowed himself to lose control, if only in that moment, being reduced to a shadow of the sickly mess he’d surely be by the next morning. Because, for as sick as he felt, sneezing and coughing and sniffling over and over into the spray - it felt good not to keep trying to hide it, letting the heat soothe away the bits of achiness in his joints, felt good as the steam started to loosen the congestion that had more thoroughly begun stuffing up his now runny nose, even if he knew it’d all be back by morning. God, it hadn’t taken long for him to feel like absolute shit.

    Eventually, Len became all too aware of how long he’d been in there - more than long enough for Barry to suspect something - despite how he didn't want to leave, his cold (flu?) actually, almost bearable. With one last wet-sounding sniffle, wiping up the end of his nose, Len shut off the water, missing the steam as soon as it was gone. The cool air left him shivering as he dressed, desperate to curl up in bed beneath the blankets as soon as possible. Except...that would mean going back to stifling his sneezes, putting up with his stuffy nose - already starting to feel congested again, half suffocating his breath - without any sort of relief. 

    One last time.

    He grabbed a tissue, blowing his achy nose into it, trying hard to soften the sound without the noise of rushing water to mask it, even if he was likely failing on that front. A few sneezes assaulted him as he pressed the tissue up against his nose before blowing it a final time for good measure, even if the congestion was just as immobile as before, Len still feeling as stuffed-up as when he’d first walked into the shower. His state was just pitiful; he didn’t have to see himself to be sure. Turning to throw the crumpled tissue away, however, it was hard not to catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

    It really was a testament to how upset Barry was that he hadn’t immediately spotted Len’s laughably obvious cold (or flu - he was leaning toward flu at this point, though if anyone asked, he would only admit to a minor cold at most). The bright, rose-red tint to the tip of his nose and the skin beneath explained the stinging pain all too succinctly. At some point, his cheeks had flushed with his now-considerable fever, sending the rest of his skin into a sickly pallor. He looked as awful and tired as he felt, that much was certain. Which was why he wasn’t about to let Barry suspect anything was wrong. The kid was clearly out of sorts if he hadn’t noticed any of that, or the stuffy turn of his speech. Barry needed him more; his cold could be damned.

    Muffling a few coughs into his hand, he finally left the bathroom, careful to shut off the lights before Barry might have a chance to see the color in his irritated nose or flushed cheeks from down the short hall. Not that it proved necessary to try and dodge what would have otherwise been Barry’s mother-hen routine; the kid was already passed out in bed. Len rubbed his eyes with tired relief, letting out another sigh through his mouth. He wouldn’t have to pretend quite as much anymore.

    He laid himself down, nicking a tissue to press against his wet and runny nose, ready to curl up on his side and hopefully manage to sniffle himself to sleep. If the thickening congestion didn't keep him up all night.

    “Len…” Barry rolled toward him in his sleep, eyebrows drawn, searching for him blindly. Fondness filled Len’s chest alongside the congestion, and he couldn’t help but slide over and wrap Barry in his arms. The kid instantly settled, which was all Len could really hope for after everything that’d happened.

    It was nothing new to put aside his own discomfort, maneuvering such that he could shove his nose into the tissue behind Barry’s back to contain the inevitable mess, hoping he’d be able to smother his sneezes and coughs enough to keep from waking Barry.

* * *

    Ironically, Len woke the next day to coughing that wasn’t his. Which was confusing as hell, at first. Because he’d, rather unfortunately, been accurate the night before regarding how terrible his sickness (flu, definitely a bad flu) would be. His head  _ hurt _ , a constant pounding behind his eyes, and there was the tight feeling of congestion in his chest that hadn’t been there before. He tried to sniffle, feeling his nose running, only to find it clogged entirely, and when he reached for a tissue from the bedside table, tried to blow it, there may well have been rubber cement stuck in there instead, for all the congestion actually shifted. Completely in vain, he tried again, blowing hard, only managing to strain the muscles below his eyes while his runny nose made a mess of the tissue.

    “Len?” Barry sounded congested, too. “Did you get me sick?”

    Dammit. “I’m sorry.” He coughed into the tissue still held by his face. At the very least, he didn’t sound any more stuffy than the night before; it was everything else that felt so much worse. “You can get sick?”

    “No powers.” Right. That. He could hear Barry sneeze behind him, the following liquid sniffles. “My head h-h…” Another sneeze. A soft groan. “Hurts.”

    Len sniffled thickly himself, the pain going straight to his sinuses just as it had the night before - minus the fact he’d had to try considerably harder for the same result, barely anything passing through his swollen nose - and pushed himself up, sitting at the edge of the bed, tissue still firmly in place. Everything ached badly down his back and shoulders, and the air suddenly felt so much colder now that he was out from under the blankets. He coughed again as he stood, ignoring the pain blossoming in his own head, slowly staggering from the room to retrieve the ibuprofen he’d left out sometime the day before. Upon returning, he’d fully planned on passing out again, letting the flu run its course until he had the energy to actively nurse himself back to health. But then he’d happened to be watching Barry taken by another coughing fit, the pain in his furrowed eyebrows, and he knew that wasn’t an option when something not related to illness twisted his chest.

    Guilt.

    “Gonna make you soup. And tea.”

    “Len?” He didn’t pay him any attention, shoulders hunched in on himself as he left, nose pinched tightly against the incoming tickle.

    The sneeze escaped as soon as he let go. Just barely out the door of his own bedroom and hit by a set of congested sneezes half stifled by his own stuffy nose, the force shaking his hunched shoulders. The thick sniffles were followed by wheezing coughs which just tightened up his chest even more. Len crossed his arms, shivering and sniffling his way into the kitchen, needing to wipe away the runny mess all too often. Didn’t take too long before the tissue was done for. Swiping a napkin instead and pressing it tight against his nose, he did as he’d promised to Barry, boiling water for tea and dumping a can of chicken noodle into a pot, for once glad for speedster metabolism, the way the kid just bought all that packaged crap, Len in no condition to properly cook. Instead, he slumped against the counter, feverish forehead resting on one hand and blowing his sore nose hard into the napkin still held in the other, just needing some sort of relief so badly, even if it hardly helped.

    The congestion wouldn’t move, his sinuses still swollen to the point air couldn’t pass through without a thick, painful sniffle. Another desperate, stuffy nose-blow led shortly to another round of coughing, Len bracing himself against the countertop.

    He felt like death warmed over. Except...that wasn’t accurate. More like hell frozen over, given how Len shivered, giving up on his lost cause of a messy nose, wrapping his arms around himself against the alarming chill. God, it was just so cold...He hunched in tighter on himself, his chest uncomfortably congested.

    “Ahh…” No...no, not now. He didn't want to sneeze, not when everything felt so tense from the chill, his chest tight, almost hurting. Pressing his knuckles beneath his nose, trying hard to fight against it, but he was too late, the tickle already too deeply there. “Ha-ahh...Ah...ah-!” Then he was gone, face half obscured behind a napkin again, shoulders shaking violently with each sneeze. He groaned as it passed, sinking more heavily into the counter, weak with exhaustion and fatigue, wishing he could collapse, just sleep. His poor nose, abused sinuses - they just... _ hurt  _ so badly. And everywhere else - his shoulders, down his back - ached deeply, the way only the height of a bad flu could make anyone feel.

    There was no way to convince anyone this was just some small cold anymore. Len wouldn't have the energy to try even if he had to, drained, barely able to keep his eyes open. He dabbed at the wetness beneath his nose, the skin too raw to rub clean. Even then, it still stung like hell, the rougher paper of the napkin doing him no favors. 

    Then followed an endless cycle of sneezing and coughing, broken up when his poor, sore nose just felt so badly stuffed he couldn’t go without trying to blow it, trying to force air from his swollen sinuses, each attempt harder and harder to accomplish as it sapped away energy he didn’t have anymore. He coughed weakly, was reaching for another new napkin - god, he was a mess - when he noticed how his hand shook, whether from chills or exhaustion, Len couldn’t tell anymore. Not that he cared much either, half of him wishing the soup would heat up faster, let him collapse in bed all that much sooner, and the other half just hoping he didn’t pass out before then. It really  _ was _ so much harder to keep his eyes open...

    “Len?” He blinked up slowly, trying to rid himself of the overwhelming fatigue, finding Barry there in the doorway, wearing a sweatshirt but still looking cold.

    “You should be in bed.” He sounded even more sick than before.

    “So should you.” Len couldn’t deny that. By all technical rights, he should be. But really, it was his fault Barry had gotten sick, so he would do his damnest to ensure the kid was well on his way to health. Didn’t matter how badly he just wanted to lay down and sleep and sniffle, sneeze, cough in the warmth of his bed. It was his fault. “I can hear you from our room.”

    A sharp, painful sniffle. “Sorry.” He was. He honestly was. It hadn’t even occurred to him how audible his illness might have been, too tied up in his feverish misery to think of how frequent and loud his sneezes had been, how much he’d tried to blow his nose.

    There was a beat of silence before Barry spoke again, his voice soft, still sounding stuffy. “Were you sick yesterday?” Len didn’t answer, just coughed weakly a few times, gaze falling to the marble countertop to the sound of Barry’s sniffles. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

    “You were upset. ‘S more important.”

    “That's not true.” Barry was across the room surprisingly quickly, powers or not, pulling Len into his arms, both of them shivering just a little. “Len, I'm sorry. I was being selfish, and I should've seen you weren't feeling good.” He coughed shallowly before continuing, voice scratchy, and Len could only guess how his throat hurt, if his own condition was any indication. “You're sick and trying to make sure  _ I'm  _ okay. This isn't your fault.”

    Len didn’t answer that either, but found himself clenching his eyes shut, burying his face into Barry, allowing himself to melt into Barry’s comfort, be selfish and take it, feeling too weak to do anything else, but safe because of it. Like he could stay there and not move for eternity, warmth radiating from Barry (likely from the same fever Len was running) despite the congested rattle in his chest.

    His nose didn’t seem to agree, though.

    It began to itch again without warning, all too soon forcing Len’s breath to hitch as he fought against it. “B-Bar...ahh...ah…!” He pulled away quickly, spinning on the spot, pressing his nose against his wrist. “Ah- _ CHOO!” _ The sneeze was wrenching, doubling him over, followed shortly by a handful more, actually feeling like it had done something to clear out his sinuses. As he sighed, caught his breath, Len was certain he could make out the sound of Barry’s soft chuckles before they devolved into shallow coughs. And for some reason, something lightened then, the situation just ridiculous. Smirking best he could, Len composed himself, straightening and turning for a napkin to carefully clean up the mess, Barry there in front of him, hunched over and breathless. “Funny there yourself, Scarlet.” How he managed to sound even more sick after sneezing, the napkin pressed to his face, Len wasn’t sure.

    Barry grinned just a little, eyes still looking tired, pulling out his own tissue and wiping his nose dry, too. “I had that coming.”

    “You did.” Of its own accord, Len’s smirk turned to a more genuine smile - incredible how he’d managed to forget all the aches and chills for a moment, just because Barry was there, their relationship so incredibly, unbelievably easy. What Len had ever done to deserve this, he had no idea. “Go. I’ll bring this.” The soup looked to be almost ready; the water for the tea had already begun boiling.

    “I’m staying.”

    “Barry…”

    “Pretty sure you’re worse off than me, Len. I’ll be okay.” He crossed the distance between them, both of them dropping their hands from their protective places over their noses and leaning forward at the same time, feverish foreheads touching, noses intentionally kept from bumping for fear of setting off another chain reaction of sneezes. Len let his eyes drift closed and sniffled, letting Barry’s hand link with his. “I wanna stay with you. Here and now and forever, too. If that’s what you want.”

    “I do.” And if Len’s voice was a little raspy, his chest feeling tight, well, he could blame being sick.

* * *

    And so followed a day of mutually sick cuddling - frequently interrupted by coughs, sneezes, the need to pull themselves from the other’s arms to grab tissues and blow stuffy noses - during which they would both drift off in feverish bursts of napping. At least until they were woken by coughing fits, whether theirs or the other’s. Len could still feel the all-over aches, the way his nose stung and throbbed, his body generally not pleased with the exertion - however brief - of trying to care of Barry when he himself was sick, coupled with late nights of planning finally caught up to him. And the lack of cold meds, nothing to soothe the aches and pains, or loosen the congestion that would keep from deep sleep. But now he wasn’t even trying to hide how disgustingly sick he felt, figured he didn’t have to, and just knowing that Barry was right there made everything feel better somehow. Even if they were  _ both _ disgustingly sick.

    Not that that would last long.

    By the next morning, Barry’s powers would have returned, making quick work of his illness.

    Len wouldn’t be so lucky. Apparently, things would still have to get worse before they got better, leaving him just about bedridden, feeling ready to cough up a goddamn lung. The congestion would stay stuck in his swollen nose, and his poor, stuffy sinuses definitely wouldn’t appreciate the violent nose blowing in the slightest. Nor would the tip of his irritated nose like being constantly wiped clean after every sniffle and sneeze (of which there were many - far more than Len would ever admit to), each tissue feeling more and more like sandpaper against his irritated skin. Everything aching in an intense, bone-deep way, it’d actually hurt when he’d try to get up, finding the world spinning in a feverish haze; in hindsight, he’d consider himself lucky to have Barry show up and lay him back down before zipping off to work, despite all of Len’s mumbled, pitifully nasal objections. Barry would return home early, greeted by a particularly violent string of sneezes and Len’s painfully red, drippy nose, finding him beyond exhausted, the coughs and sneezes never letting him rest or more than two minutes at a time. A few weak, miserable nose blows and sniffles later, and Len would definitely be glad for having a speedster around willing to run out for tissues and meds at a moment’s notice, then return and cuddle with his sniffly, stuffed-up, sick mess of a boyfriend.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorta...meh on this, but it's been sitting in my documents long enough - figured I should just share it. So if there's typos or anything, please let me know! (I'm very sleepy as I type this). And this is probably gonna be the last of these CF sickfics for a bit - I had one other idea...well, it's getting repurposed, probably. (Although if anyone likes this ridiculousness that I write and wants to prompt me, I'm always down for that)
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading!


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